The Misadventures of Khadijah: The Wool Blanket
Little Khadijah always has a knack of finding trouble...or trouble finding her.
The full moon hung heavy in the ink-black sky, casting a ghostly glow over the gravel road that wound its way through the rural West African town. Khadijah’s small, sandaled feet shuffled over the rough path, her seven-year-old frame struggling under the weight of the thick woolen blanket she dragged behind her. The blanket, frayed and worn, snagged persistently on the jagged rocks jutting from the ground, forcing Khadijah to pause every few steps.
She sighed, her breath coming out in short, frustrated puffs in the still, humid air. The night was stifling, and beads of sweat clung to her forehead, mixing with the dust from the road. She knelt down, her fingers prying at the latest rock that had latched onto the blanket’s edge. It was a sizable stone, rough and unyielding, and Khadijah’s small hands struggled to dislodge it.
With a final grunt, she freed the blanket, standing up and wiping her dirty hands on her faded nightdress. She glanced around nervously. The town lay behind her in the distance, the houses silent—except for one that Khadijah was sure would not be silent by now—and the rocky road ahead stretched out into the darkness. Shadows danced around her, cast by the swaying branches of the palm oil and coconut trees that loomed overhead like giant sentinels.
Khadijah resumed her journey, the blanket trailing smoothly for a few precious moments before it caught again on another rock. This time, it was a cluster of smaller stones, their edges sharp and unforgiving. She bit her lip, her eyes darting to the shadows that seemed to grow darker and more menacing with each step. She bent down once more, her fingers trembling as she picked away the stones, one by one.
As Khadijah stood up again, she thought she heard a voice—a soft, almost imperceptible whisper. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked around, her eyes wide and ears open. The whisper came again, a sibilant murmur that seemed to weave through the air like a delicate thread.
“Khadijah...”
Her breath caught in her throat, but as she stood still, straining to listen, she noticed the gentle rustling of the leaves in the coconut trees and the faint stirring of the tall grasses along the roadside.
“Khadijah...” the same whisper called out.
She let out a slow breath, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease. It was just the wind, she realized, playing tricks on her mind as it whispered through the trees and over the fields. The soft rustle and sigh of the night breeze created an illusion of voices in the stillness. She glanced around again, reassured by the familiar sounds of the nocturnal world, including the steady chirping of crickets surrounding her.
The moonlight flickered, as if caught in a sudden gust of wind and its trickery. Khadijah looked up at the full moon, her guiding light and solace. Its radiant glow illuminated the sky, one of the few major reasons she ventured out at night. She could rely on its brilliance not only to guide her path but also to help her accomplish her task when she reached the lake.
The gravel crunched loudly underfoot, each step forward echoing in the night. The blanket snagged again, but this time, Khadijah didn’t stop. She pulled harder, the fabric tearing slightly as it came free. She didn’t care. She just needed to keep moving. It was the only way she would be able to get back in time.
Khadijah continued dragging the blanket, her small hands gripping the frayed edges tightly as she trudged forward. The gravel road, unforgiving and rough, gradually gave way to a softer texture beneath her sandals; the crunch of stones underfoot gave way to the squish of wet grass. She glanced down, watching as the blanket became damp, clinging to the blades of grass and the occasional patch of mud.
She knew she was at the toughest part of her trek now. Instantly, she looked up to face the tall reeds in front of her. Greeting her like a longstanding enemy, the reeds stood still despite the night breeze: their slender forms like silent battalions marking the boundary of the marshland.
Khadijah paused, taking in the familiar yet daunting sight. The reeds, with their pale, moonlit tips, stretched endlessly, blending into the dark horizon. She tightened her grip on the blanket, biting her bottom lip. The whispers of the wind seemed to encourage her, urging her to push through this last challenge.
She took a deep breath and stepped forward, the wet grass giving way to shallow pools of water. The cold seeped through her sandals, but she pressed on, each step deliberate and careful. The blanket trailed behind her, its weight increasing as it absorbed the moisture from the marshy ground. She had come too far to turn back now.
With every stride, Khadijah kept her eyes on the path ahead, navigating through the maze of reeds and water. Her heart leapt with joy as the distant shimmer of the lake came into view.
As she exited from the reeds, the expanse of the lake shimmering before her like a promise. But when she took her next step, the blanket became stuck, bogged down by the weight of water and the marshy grass clinging to it. She turned around and pulled with all her might.
Her first attempt failed, her small hands slipping off the wet fabric. She took a deep breath and tried again, her muscles straining as she tugged at the sodden blanket. The blanket refused to budge. On her third attempt, she mustered every ounce of strength, gritting her teeth as she gave a final, desperate pull.
With a sudden lurch, the blanket came free, but the force sent Khadijah sprawling backward. She landed on her bottom in a soggy patch of grass, the cold seeping instantly through her nightdress and underwear. She gasped, the chill of the water making her shiver.
Instantly, she scrambled to her feet, patting down her dress to remove the excess water. The cold water in her sandals and now-soaked underwear made her shiver uncontrollably. She hugged herself for a moment, trying to ward off the chill.
Determined not to let this setback deter her, Khadijah steeled herself and resumed her journey. The lake was so close, its surface reflecting the moonlight like a mirror. She scanned the lakeshore, searching for the spot she needed. There it was: a smooth, large boulder near the water’s edge, bathed in moonlight and kissed by gentle waves. She quickened her pace, eager to reach her destination, but stopped abruptly, her breath hitching.
There, on the boulder, was the silhouette of a woman. She lay with her back turned, looking up at the moon. The woman’s stillness contrasted sharply with the lively dance of the waves against the shore. Her long hair flowed down her back like a dark river, her figure blending almost seamlessly with the shadows cast by the moonlight.
Upon seeing the woman’s figure, a warmth spread through Khadijah’s body, making her forget the cold and dampness in her sandals and clothing. Her heart leapt with joy at the possibility of having company on this dark and lonely night.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Khadijah raced toward the lakeshore, pulling the blanket behind her faster than she ever had before. Upon reaching the shore, she immediately and elatedly greeted the woman lounging with her back on the boulder. “Hello!” she called out, her voice bright with excitement. The woman did not look at her, keeping her eyes fixed on the moon.
Undeterred, Khadijah tried again, louder this time. “Hello! Beautiful night, isn’t it?” She waved her hands energetically and moved closer, her sandals crunching on the rocky and sandy shore. The blanket trailed behind her, heavy and damp but forgotten in her eagerness.
As she drew nearer, she noticed that the woman seemed to be sitting on the shore. The darkness outside the moonlight’s reach obscured much of the woman’s form. Her head and torso were distinctly visible, but below that and untouched by the moonlight, everything faded into an inky blackness.
Khadijah approached until she was just a few steps away. “Do you like the mo—”
The woman turned abruptly, causing Khadijah to stop in her tracks. She looked at Khadijah with a hint of annoyance, as if interrupted from deep thought.
Khadijah pointed at the moon. “Do you like the moon?” Her voice was milder and softer now, still teeming with excitement.
The woman glanced at the moon briefly before turning her gaze back to Khadijah. As she faced the little girl directly, her brows furrowed, and a frown creased her face.
“You are beautiful,” Khadijah said in awe, her voice barely a whisper. The moonlight had shifted, casting a brighter glow on the woman—a woman Khadijah had never seen before in her tiny little life. It illuminated the woman’s face, revealing creamy beige skin that seemed to glow with an ethereal light. Her heart-shaped face boasted high, delicate cheekbones and a perfectly sculpted jawline. Her nose was slender and elegant, and her full lips, slightly parted, had a hint of a natural rosy hue.
The woman’s eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, were a deep, captivating shade, glistening like dark pools in the moonlight. They held a depth that drew Khadijah in, making her momentarily forget her surroundings. The woman’s raven-black hair flowed down, partially covering her bare, perky breasts, with silky strands cascading over her shoulders and disappearing into the darkness behind her. The moonlight played off the subtle highlights in her hair, making it shimmer like flowing silk.
Khadijah stood entranced by the woman’s beauty. The woman’s serene and otherworldly presence contrasted with the dead silence of the night. Her delicate features and the graceful curve of her neck made her seem almost unreal, a vision conjured by the moon itself.
“I wish I was beautiful like you,” Khadijah managed to say, her voice filled with longing.
The woman’s gaze softened slightly as she regarded Khadijah, and for a moment—only a split moment—, the hint of a smile touched her lips.
“I wish my hair was long like yours,” Khadijah continued, no longer in a trance. “See my hair.” She eagerly turned to show the woman her hair, which flowed down just below shoulder level. Hair length was a point of pride for Khadijah, as no other little girl in town could match hers. Yet, in that moment, Khadijah dreamed that with hair like the woman, not even the older women could compare. She was certain she would be the most beautiful in town.
“Watin yu dae do ya?” a voice asked, suddenly jolting Khadijah from her flights of fancy. She looked at the woman, shocked, unable to believe what she had just heard. The Krio accent was unlike any she had encountered before. The closest comparison was when she eavesdropped on the gossips of the elderly Creole women in town, but even their speech wasn’t as thick and heavy as the accent uttered by the woman. It sounded primitive and ancient, as if spoken in a faraway, different time.
Still, Khadijah, ever the social butterfly, wasn’t going to let the question go unanswered. If the woman had known Khadijah, she would never have posed the question or any question, for that matter. Everyone in town knew that Khadijah was the resident blabbermouth, and talking to her was a sure way to invite a torrent of chatter. However, the woman seemed unaware of this, and Khadijah was glad that, for once, someone didn’t know about her reputation.
Taking a deep breath, Khadijah then exhaled, unleashing all the explanations that she could think of to more than answer the woman’s simple question. Her words poured out in a torrent as she explained her reason for being at the lake: to prove to everyone in town that she was not a baby anymore and was more than capable of taking care of herself. She lamented how everyone saw her as the baby in the family and her older sister as the mature one, despite the girl being only four years older. Not to mention, Khadijah considered herself much more social than her introverted sister. She could talk to anyone in town and was even more well-liked. Besides height and age difference, she believed her sister had nothing to offer in terms of maturity. Yet, everyone in town considered her the baby and her sister the older and superior one.
Determined to prove them wrong, she had taken the wool blanket to wash at the lake so it would be ready for the newborn baby expected that night. Khadijah showed the woman the blanket, explaining how nearly all the women in town were at her neighbor’s home, a young couple expecting their first child, as the wife was in labor. With everyone so focused on the laboring wife, she had quietly taken the blanket meant for the expected newborn, believing it was dirty and needed a good wash in the lake.
The whole time Khadijah spoke, the woman remained silent, her expression stone-cold. But when Khadijah showed the blanket, the woman’s gaze shifted, filled with intrigue. Khadijah went on, explaining that she wanted to do something important to prove she could handle responsibilities just as well as her sister. So, she had sneaked out with the blanket, determined to have it clean and ready for the newborn. It was a special night, and she wanted to contribute in her own way: a way that highlighted her maturity.
The woman stayed silent, her eyes fixated on the blanket. The moonlight illuminated her features, highlighting the deep contemplation in her gaze.
After finishing her story, Khadijah suddenly remembered the urgency of her task. She hadn’t come to the lake just to chat; she had a mission. She tugged at the blanket, trying to pull it into the water, but it was too heavy, weighed down with gravel, thick marshland grasses, mud and water. She strained against its weight, but it wouldn’t budge.
Desperate, she glanced at the woman. “Can you help me wash the blanket?” she asked, but the woman remained still, her eyes on the blanket as if she hadn’t heard Khadijah’s plea.
Suddenly, a voice called out through the night air, “Khu-deeee-zhuh.” The cadence started low and rose sharply at the end. Khadijah froze, recognizing the voice. Her father only called her that way in times of danger: a near danger. Her heart raced as she heard rustling in the marshland behind her. Turning, she saw a figure emerging from the shadows, a flashlight cutting through the darkness. It was her father.
She spun back to tell the woman, but the boulder was empty. The woman had vanished, leaving only the moonlit shore and the gentle waves. Eyes wide, Khadijah opened her mouth to speak, but a rough, calloused hand clamped over her mouth before she could utter a word.
“If you say one word, you will see blood,” her father’s voice growled in her ear.
Khadijah’s head bobbed in a quick nod; her breath hitched in her throat, and she felt a cold sweat break out across her skin. If there was one thing she feared more in this entire world, it was the sight of blood. Her father’s hand moved to grip her wrist, yanking her away from the lake. The frantic swishing of his white gown echoed in her ears. She looked back, trying to reach for the blanket, but it was already receding into the distance.
The blanket and the mysterious woman were lost to the night as Khadijah’s father dragged her swiftly towards town.
In the days that followed, starting from that very night, Khadijah was overtaken by severe nausea, vomiting, and cold sweats, leaving her bedridden and teetering on the brink of death.
After ten agonizing days, she emerged triumphant, returning to her talkative self.
However, another child in town wasn’t so fortunate. On the same night as Khadijah’s venture to the lake, a young couple welcomed their newborn baby girl. By the following morning, their joy had turned to grief as they said their goodbyes, shattered by a sudden and inexplicable loss. Well, not entirely inexplicable. The bereaved young wife was convinced that something was amiss about her child’s death—something sinister. She constantly told anyone who would listen, though those willing to do so grew fewer by the day.
In the town, it was common for mothers who lost their children at birth to grieve openly to heal. However, the young wife’s grief was neither common nor normal. Her public laments were loud, irrational, and often nonsensical. Those who lent an ear to her sorrows soon regretted it and began avoiding her altogether. She screamed the same accusation at the top of her lungs, “I dream she take mi pikin that night! She dey eat her!” Who was the “she” that took her child? The young wife would not say or reveal an identity to anyone, not even to her own husband, no matter how much he badgered her to talk. It seemed as though she was scared to reveal the identity, as if fearing retribution.
Her cries resonated throughout the town, leaving a lasting impression on all who heard them. Khadijah and her father, being next-door neighbors to the grieving couple, were particularly affected. Each time they heard the cries, her father would repeat his warning, a constant reminder of that night at the lake. “There are things in this world God created for the eyes not to see and the mouth not to speak,” he would say, adding a chilling admonition to ensure Khadijah heeded his words: “Remember, there will be blood.”
Eventually, the young wife’s grief became too much for her husband to bear. Unable to cope with her public laments and irrational outbursts, he decided to take her back to his parents’ village, hoping a change of scenery would help her heal. He reasoned that being away from the place where they lost their child might bring her some peace.
Khadijah would return to the lake, several times in fact, though never at night and always with the company of her oblivious older sister. She never spoke of the incident at the lake to her sister or anyone else in the family. Each time she returned, she scoured the shoreline and reeds, searching for the wool blanket. But it was nowhere to be found.
Surprisingly, no one in town mentioned its whereabouts or disappearance.
Thank You for Reading!
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